


Tribus

by RequiemForTheWolves



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Human, Angst, Domestic, Government Conspiracy, M/M, Serial Killers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-27
Updated: 2016-10-27
Packaged: 2018-08-27 06:53:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,313
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8391571
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RequiemForTheWolves/pseuds/RequiemForTheWolves
Summary: Alfred can't go a night without being woken by night terrors, but at least he always wakes up with Arthur by his side. After all, his dreams are just dreams...right?





	

            There was blood everywhere. It was clinging to his clothes, sticky and still warm. There was something over his face, itchy and oppressive. He couldn’t breathe through his nose, just the holes cut out over his mouth. His clothing was thick and heavy. He felt numb, like he wasn’t the one moving his body.

            There was a woman in front of him. She was cowering against a wall, too petrified to move. He thrust his chainsaw into her midsection. She let out a horrifying scream as the rotating blades dug into her gut. Her cries died quickly as she was torn in half, collapsing lifeless on the ground.

            There was another scream, a man’s this time, torn from his throat. Alfred startled awake at the realization that it was his own. He was the one screaming.

            Worried green eyes hovered over him. A soft, warm body pinned his to the bed, a hand on each of his wrists to keep him from lashing out. Alfred choked on a sob.

            “Shh, it’s all right, love. You’re all right.” Arthur hushed him. His gentle, soothing tone only made Alfred cry harder.

            Arthur tipped over onto his side so he could pull Alfred close like he always did, the American’s face buried in his boyfriend’s chest. He gripped at Arthur’s shirt. White fabric balled up in his fists. White. Pure. His angel.

            “Hush, love.” The Englishman soothed. “You’re here now. With me.”

            “Tell me.” Alfred cried, broken. “Tell me, please.”

            Arthur hummed a low, soothing note deep in his chest while he stroked fingers through Alfred’s soft blond hair. He hadn’t always known how to calm his partner down from his night terrors, but by now he was an expert.

            “We met at a café.” Arthur started, voice low and lilting. “You bumped into me and I spilled my tea all over your jacket. You laughed and offered to buy me a new one so long as I would sit with you. I was out of a job and broke at the time, so I took you up on your offer. Within three hours you had somehow managed weasel yourself a phone number and a date out of me.

            “The next weekend you took me to an amusement park where I was terrified of the roller coasters but didn’t say anything because I wanted to impress you. You freaked out when I passed out on the first ride. I was terribly embarrassed, but you were very kind about it. Still, I was terrified that you wouldn’t want to see me after that. Fate would not have it though, as three days later I ran into you at a bookstore. We spent three hours together, and you kissed me in the middle of the horror section. Right next to H.P. Lovecraft and Edgar Allan Poe.

            “Three months later you asked me to move in with you. I worried that we were moving too fast. I spent three days ignoring your calls before you finally showed up on my doorstep, frustrated and hurt. It was there that I finally admitted to you I was scared, and you said that you were scared too. But, you said that it was because you were scared that you knew what we had was real. I moved in with you the next day, and I’ve been here ever since.”

            Alfred breathed out a sigh. Throughout the story Arthur’s light, soothing tone had calmed him, grounding him back into reality. He nuzzled into the soft, tear stained cotton of his boyfriend’s shirt. “I love you, Arthur.”

            Arthur pressed a kiss to his partner’s forehead. “I love you too, poppet.”

 

-_-_-_-_-_-_-

 

            It seemed Alfred would never stop being amazed at the kind of bullshit high schoolers would put in their essays.

            “Listen to this,” he crowed to Arthur. The other man was in the kitchen, on his third batch of scones that were apparently looking less burnt with each attempt “They said that Aaron Burr was the third president. _Aaron Burr_. That’s ridiculous! There was a whole page in the textbook that talked about causes and effects of the third election. It’s like they don’t even listen when I talk.”

            “Darling,” Arthur said as he came into the living room, flour on his apron and three blackened scones on a plate, “you know that I feel for you, but I don’t know who the bloody hell that man is either.” Arthur plopped down next to him on the couch, and Alfred adjusted so that they were leaning into each other comfortably. He took a scone and shoved half of it into his mouth petulantly. After living with Arthur for three years he had an iron stomach, which bode quite well for his relationship. He had learned rather quickly that Arthur was a terror when his cooking was insulted.

            “Yea,” Alfred mumbled around his food, “but you’re not even from here.” Arthur shot him a nasty look, and he swallowed before continuing. “You probably had to memorize all the kings ‘n queens ‘n stuff.”

            Arthur gave him a patient, if patronizing smile. “There’s a bit too many to expect sixteen year olds to memorize, but pretty much.”

            Alfred turned his head into Arthur’s shoulder and sighed. He smelled like tea and refined sugar. Like home. “Well hey, at least you guys have the same names repeated over and over. We have-”

            The front door nearly flew off its hinges as it was thrown open. The two of them jumped, the plate of scones clattering to the floor. A man with buzz cut grey hair, a black tank top, and army fatigues stood in their doorway. Three grunts were behind him, standing at attention.

            Alfred nearly demanded to know what the hell they thought they were doing breaking into his house when the leader pulled the lit cigarette from his mouth. “Bloody Mary, Queen of Scotts.”

            Immediately Arthur slumped forward on the couch. Alfred grabbed him in a panic, only to find that his partner’s green eyes were utterly empty. There was no one there.

            Alfred stood up, his hands balling into fists. “What the hell did you-”

            He was cut off as one of the grunts tackled him to the ground. The man was smaller than him though, and Alfred managed to throw him off, landing a punch to his jaw for good measure.

            He was about to get up when the sound of a click cut through the air. Alfred looked up to find the leader’s handgun pressed against Arthur’s temple. The shell of Alfred’s partner continued to stare on blankly, unaware of what was going on around him.

            Alfred froze. The man now had his undivided attention.

            “That’s better.” The man practically purred. “I know that you always forget all of this afterward, but you’d think that at least by now you would have figured out not to struggle.”

            “What?” There had to be some kind of mistake. Alfred had no idea what he was talking about.

            The two other grunts walked in then. One carried a large orange trench coat, striped pants, and a hockey mask. The other had a chainsaw. Alfred’s blood ran cold. He barely noticed the prick at his neck as the one who had tackled him injected him with something.

            “Nonononono.” He muttered. “Th-this can’t be right. This-”

            “Sorry, son.” The leader said, not sounding apologetic in the slightest. “But you’ve been government property since the beginning. We let you have your happy little life here when you’re not needed, but we have every right to take you back. Not to worry though. You’ll be wiped clean and returned here before you know it.”

            “I-I don’t- what-” Alfred stammered. This wasn’t real. This wasn’t _real_.

            The grunt next to him with his eyes on his watch suddenly spoke up. “Drugs take effect in three…two…one.”

            Blackout.


End file.
